


That Romphim Life

by joshlymanwalkandtalk (Joshlymanwalkandtalk)



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: M/M, blowjob, handjob, romphims
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joshlymanwalkandtalk/pseuds/joshlymanwalkandtalk
Summary: The romphim thing came out of nowhere and took off. They joked on Twitter, took jabs during the outros, shouted out the bet on their pods. They're flirtatious, sort of. Lovett doesn't know how to read it, it feels complicated. It feels awkward, but not in a way that he can shake. It still gives him a flutter in his stomach like a teenager.





	That Romphim Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gdgdbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/gifts).



> I hope I fulfilled your wish! You're an amazing and prolific writer and I wanted to do right by you.

Lovett tugs at the romper, straightening the hems. He looks at himself in his dirty closet mirror. The legs cover the whitest of his thighs, though his legs still glow against the electric blue field covered in white snowflakes. The waist fits, but his shoulders are a little tight. He shoves his hands in his pockets and strikes a few casual poses. He raises his eyebrows with an impish smile, shrugs, then deflates, his face falling instantly. He buttons the top button. Hesitates. Unbuttons it. Goes to button it again, but instead smoothes his hands down his front, catching his thumbs in his pockets.

He eyes his phone on his nightstand. It’s taunting him, distracting him from the misshapen monster in the mirror. He sighs dejectedly, and grabs it, unlocking it and pausing on the bright picture. DeRay's face is stretched into a tight, excited smile, but his eyes are soft. It's close up, so only part of his chest and the obnoxious red, white, and green pattern of his romphim, fashioned to look like an ugly knit sweater, is visible. Lovett's eyes are drawn to the V of DeRay's collar and the jut of his collar bones. Lovett absently fingers his top button, stroking across his warm skin. He scrolls down through their text chain.

_now it's your turn_

_**I in no way agreed to that** _

_I showed you mine_

_**What are you? 5? Show me yours and I'll show you mine?** _

_something like that ;)_

The romphim thing came out of nowhere and took off. They joked on Twitter, took jabs during the outros, shouted out the bet on their pods. They're flirtatious, sort of. Lovett doesn't know how to read it, it feels complicated. It feels awkward, but not in a way that he can shake. It still gives him a flutter in his stomach like a teenager.

The phone feels heavy in his hand. He doesn't slam it facedown on the nightstand, but the sound still echoes in his room. He grunts and bends to rummage through the pile of clothes scattered around his feet. He shakes out a pair of pants, only worn once that week, and shimmies into them. His reflection still isn't as casually handsome as he wants it to be, no matter how many times he puts his hands on his hips.

He throws his head back and groans. _Why is this hard? Why are clothes a thing? Why do we need clothes?_ He looks back at his body in the mirror and remembers.

His phone buzzes again. Emily’s sunny face stares up at him from his slightly scratched screen.

_You’re not invited to this party, you’re throwing it!  
Get your ass over here!_

In a rush, he pulls an ironic Hanukkah sweater with blinking candles over the rest of his outfit and leaves the house before he can second guess the last few hours of questionable decisions. Second guessing is trouble and he’s got a lot more questionable decisions to make tonight.

 

They snagged a nice space for the party. If it had been left up to Tommy and Jon, they would’ve ended up at some sports bar or something. Tanya landed them the nice hall -- a table full of fancy bite-sized canapes, a cheesy checkerboard dance floor, and a fully stocked bar. Everybody loves a company holiday party.

He's proud of the year of work they put in and how well they all work together. He surveys the room, generous thoughts filling his chest, but he exhales and moves on through the crowd. Nobody wants that mushy stuff and he's got a party to (co)host.

Emily shimmies over, the flared skirt of her deep red dress fluttering around her. “You’re late.”

“This is early for me,” he shouts, his voice comically shrill. She just swats at his arm and forces jingling antlers on his head, the headband tucked into his curls.

“Nice shirt,” she says mockingly.

“It’s better than you think,” he says, slipping his hand under the hem to turn on the lights. They flicker randomly, golden flames on each candle of the menorah.

“Fancy,” she says, her voice still exaggerated, but her smile completely real. “Jon’s been waiting for you, wondering where you’ve been.”

“I hope he’s learned by now not to hold his breath,” Lovett tosses out flatly. Emily rolls her eyes and grabs his wrist, pulling him over to where Jon is having a gesture-heavy conversation with Priyanka. He’s wearing his earnest listening face and nodding along. Emily slides under Jon’s arm, her slim arm wrapped around his waist. Jon smiles his handsome gap-toothed smile, dressed in a deep green button-down rolled at his elbows, and Lovett is suddenly reminded of how warm he is under all the clothes he’s hiding under. Effortless jerk.

“Glad you could make it,” he says, looking down at his almost-certainly MVMT watch. They’re all such sluts for capitalist swag.

“My presence is a present, as they say,” he replies, scanning the crowd. He’s going for subtle, but he’s not trying that hard.

“Then I hope you came with a gift receipt,” Jon says, barely getting it out before laughing at his own joke. “I thought we were gonna have to make the toast without you.”

Lovett immediately spots DeRay across the room and his guts turn to knots. He looks so good. Lovett's not ready.

“Are we seriously doing that? Isn’t an open bar enough?” He can’t take his eyes off of DeRay weaving through the crowd. They’re going to have to interact. Lovett’s definitely too sober.

Having DeRay’s attention is intense. He's always in the moment, dark eyes focusing like lasers. He chuckles, but doesn't lose sight of the conversation, never leaves the topic too long. Lovett wishes he'd laugh more, just one good belly laugh. Lovett chases the bubbly high of successfully landing a joke. It's a powerful feeling, knowing you can guide the conversation and shield yourself at the same time. Preemptive laughs. DeRay chuckles, but never loses himself.

He's not sure why he needs the laugh so badly.

Lovett’s trying to distract himself with Jon and Priyanka’s rousing back and forth. He’s sliding into the groove, killing it with one liners. Jon’s head is thrown back again and again, but he’s an easy laugh. Lovett has real skill. Priyanka is covering her mouth, almost choking on cookie crumbs. It’s working. His focus is getting stronger. They’re laughing at his proposed quips for the hypothetical toast. Maybe he’ll actually agree to doing it (he won’t).

And then he hears DeRay burst out laughing while talking to Tommy by the dessert table, and his chest aches. Maybe it _is_ just Lovett.

He needs a drink.

 

He's ordering a rum and diet when DeRay walks up behind him, his hand on Lovett's shoulder. “What gives?”

“Uh, yes,” Lovett stutters, grabbing his drink and turning in place, trapped between DeRay and the bar. “So, here's the thing.” He locks eyes with him and quickly takes a large gulp of his drink. It’s too cold on his teeth, and he can't resist making a face. “It didn't come.” He’s such a coward.

DeRay cocks his hip, his romphim under his blue vest looking even better up close and in person. “You said you got it,” DeRay says with a slight whine.

“I was wrong,” he says, fast enough his words blend together. The fabric chafes under the waistband of his pants just to torment him.

A suspicious smirk tugs at the corner of DeRay's mouth. “You promised.”

Lovett holds up a defensive finger. “I did **not**. I said I'd try it on and decide-”

“So you _did _get it!” DeRay cuts him off, face lit up.__

__Lovett shakes his head, a nervous smile molding his face. He can’t hide a damn thing. “I have no idea what you're-”_ _

__“You promised,” DeRay says, his eyebrows stretching his eyes wide._ _

__Lovett shrugs, his voice climbing higher. “Maybe, hypothetically, it didn't look good-”_ _

__DeRay flicks the bell at the end of one of Lovett's antlers. “I doubt that.”_ _

__Lovett’s guts boil and melt. He’s floundering. He averts his attention down to his shirt, because the way DeRay looks him in the eye is too much while still this sober and unfunny. “Look -- obviously I found the next best thing.” He sucks the tiny stir straw in his mouth, trying to be cute, but DeRay just rolls his eyes._ _

__“I had such high hopes for you, Lovett,” DeRay says and spins around back into the crowd, beelining to the dancefloor. Lovett pulls the straw from his mouth and drinks from the side, crunching on a mouthful of ice._ _

__

__Lovett's hatred of small talk is not mitigated by alcohol, but the guilt he feels walking away from conversations is increasingly less existent._ _

__He drifts around, making pockets of people laugh as he goes. The rum and diets are leaving a sweet film in his mouth and he catches himself sucking on his tongue. His limbs feel loose and light. He stands at the edge of the dancefloor, awkwardly wiggling until Hanna and Emily pull him towards them and dance around him. They’re giggling, hands in the air, knees bent, swaying to the beat._ _

__Lovett is trying his best. It’s easy enough keeping the beat with a bobbed head and limp claps, but the rest of his body is a challenge that even alcohol can’t fully conquer. The colored lights above them flash, changing their hues as the songs change from throwback hits to songs he doesn’t really know, but heard on the radio in Emily’s car._ _

__Emily is tinged pink, her face a mix of the lights and the vodka lemonades doing their job. She wanders off to grind on her husband like the happily married couple they are. If he didn’t love them he’d hate them. Luckily, he really loves them._ _

__Hanna’s not as pale, but he bets there’s a glow of a fine buzz there too. “I’m gonna go get a drink, do you need one?” Hanna yells into his ear. Her perfume has a hint of cinnamon to it. How festive._ _

__“No, I think I’m good,” he yells back before she disappears toward the bar. He’s trying to pace himself, but soon he won’t be able to convince himself that he should._ _

__Before he can chicken out and escape to the safety of the buffet table covered in tiny, delicious snacks that serve only as alcohol sponges, Ira presses himself against his back. He rolls against him almost hard enough to tip his balance. “You look like Jax Taylor every time someone calls him out.”_ _

__Lovett turns around to look up into Ira’s face. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”_ _

__“I guess that’s a choice you could make,” Ira says, holding a glass of something fizzy and golden. His white nails stand out under the lights. “What’s with the crazy-eyes?”_ _

__Lovett is really struggling against his body’s desire to stand still. He can feel a bead of sweat roll down his back. There’s too much happening around him and he can’t focus. He’s completely distracted by the search for one specific face under obnoxious lights and registers Ira’s question well after he should’ve answered. “What?”_ _

__Ira smiles. “Have you had too much to drink? Or not enough?” He raises an eyebrow and sips at his own. His silver scarf billows gracefully with every movement. Why does everyone look so fucking good?_ _

__Lovett pulls at his collar, careful to keep his shame hidden. He might have to finally start having second thoughts about keeping this polyester prison on under his clothes. “Probably both.” He scans the crowd again, but Ira is a little less oblivious than the girls._ _

__“Are my moves not enchanting enough?” he says, leaning into Lovett’s view._ _

__Lovett startles, catching his breath and jumping back. He’s on edge and feels silly._ _

__Ira looks around, checking the direction of Lovett’s attention. “Who are you looking for?”_ _

__Lovett chokes on his own spit. “What are you--”_ _

__“Nope,” Ira bellows, grabbing him by the shoulder. He pushes him back toward the bar ( _why does everyone think they can just manhandle him where they want him?_ ). When they get there, he points at his drink and raises two fingers to the bartender. Lovett rolls his eyes._ _

__“I don’t even like prosecco.”_ _

__“Who said either were for you? You’re a big boy, get your own.” A pouty smile pulls the side of his face. “Real talk: what is wrong with you?”_ _

__“Nothing. It’s nothing,” he says, totally normal._ _

__Ira squints at him, and Lovett can feel his judgment weigh on his shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’re being super weird.”_ _

__“ _You’re_ being super weird,” Lovett sneers playfully. Lovett finally gets the bartender’s attention and asks for a water._ _

__“And to think you wrote jokes for the president.”_ _

__Lovett rolls his eyes and drinks the glass in one long go. “I told you, it’s nothing, I’m just hot.”_ _

__“You keep looking around. What are you looking for?”_ _

__“Nobody,” he moans, shaking his head. Dammit. “Don’t worry about it.”_ _

__“Nobody, huh?” Ira smiles conspiratorially. “I know interoffice romances are usually frowned upon, but I’m an amazing wingman.”_ _

__“I said don’t _worry_ about it,” he crows. He feels bad getting so annoyed._ _

__Ira leans on the bar and smiles fondly at him. “It really is fun to wind you up.”_ _

__“I’m glad for you,” Lovett says dryly, waving at the bartender. It’s like she’s ignoring him._ _

__“Come on, loosen up,” Ira says, straightening back up. Lovett’s orders a second glass of water. He’s been sweating too much not to._ _

__He puffs up and turns to Ira, ready to fight back. “What makes you thin--” But when he meets Ira’s playful smile, he deflates and pouts. Nobody can hide from Ira. “Nothing’s happening. Nothing’s gonna happen.”_ _

__Ira’s eyes sparkle. “There’s gotta be something I can do.”_ _

__“Honestly, you’d only make it worse,” he grumbles._ _

__Ira plays offended, overdramatic. “Me? Never.”_ _

__The water is making Lovett feel more human and less of a wreck._ _

__“Suit yourself. I’ve been matchmaker for many a happy relationship.”_ _

__A headache is threatening to build behind his eyes and nurses his water. “Just because a hook up goes well doesn’t mean it was a happy relationship.”_ _

__Ira sighs, swallowing the last drops of his one glass, and picking up the second. “Cheer up, Lovett.” He leaves Lovett to stare into his drink._ _

__He feels like he’s at a school dance, standing against the wall, watching everyone have more fun. Ugh, he’s such a maudlin baby. He’s under too much fabric without a plan, and he wants nothing more than to take it all off. His id wants to do it in front of someone. Maybe he’ll work his way up to that._ _

__Ira’s booming laugh trumpets from the other end of the bar, garnering his attention. DeRay’s eyes are crinkled, laughing hard enough for him to clutch his chest._ _

__He stares at the ceiling for a minute, letting his eyes slip closed when the lights flash too bright. He’s being tried. He can’t keep solving these problems with a drink, but he definitely needs another drink, a real drink. Maybe then he’ll finally find a way to get through the night._ _

__

__Lovett thinks liquid courage is a cheesy myth, but there’s no other excuse for his legs carrying him straight to where DeRay is. He’s gotta do it, gotta follow his instincts and get the laugh. Laughter is his all-in-one talent. He doesn't know how to communicate, let alone flirt, without it, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get DeRay to break for once._ _

__Now’s a good a time as any for bravery, whatever that looks like._ _

__Lovett squares his shoulders, straightens his spine, and promptly trips on a barstool leg. He catches himself and tries again, chin up._ _

__DeRay’s at the edge of the floor with Ira, mugging for selfies, checking them after each try. DeRay stretches his face into his adorable, trademark ‘o,’ Ira showing off his manicure and his coy smile. Why are all of his employees so fucking attractive. It’s honestly creating a hostile work environment._ _

__DeRay brightens when Lovett walks up. “Get in here!” He herds Lovett between them for another picture._ _

__Lovett can feel the heat of DeRay’s face next to his. He can’t help but smile genuinely. It feels good, if heady, to be this close._ _

__Ira checks the picture, the glow of his phone illuminating his face. “Aw, it’s cute.”_ _

__DeRay clambers past Lovett to take a look. “Aw, it is cute. Send me that one.”_ _

__Lovett bites his bottom lip to keep from giving himself away, but he’s red and fizzy inside and there’s no way he’s being subtle._ _

__DeRay’s looking at his own phone when Ira looks at Lovett, brows raised, flicking his eyes to DeRay and back, widening his eyes comically. Lovett rolls his eyes. He knows he’s given himself away. Terrible poker face. This is why he sticks to Settlers of Catan. He doesn’t even know how to play poker._ _

__“Well,” Ira announces, putting his phone away. “I’m gonna go get some of those little crab puffs.” He gives Lovett an up and down look with narrowed eyes, chewing the inside of his lip. “I’ll leave you to it.”_ _

__DeRay isn’t paying attention to Ira’s growing judgment when he leads Lovett out to the floor. He pulls Lovett toward him until their chests bounce off each other. They touch only a moment before the space returns between them. Lovett lets his limbs go loose, stops caring about how it he looks piled under all of his clothes. He follows DeRay’s bouncy lead until they’re grinding against each other, but not in a serious way, giggling like it’s absurd. But it’s not absurd and they both get into it. Lovett’s not as smooth as DeRay, but who is?_ _

__DeRay turns around, swaying his hips back against Lovett’s._ _

__Lovett never had a chance._ _

__Lovett puts his hands on DeRay’s hips and guides him closer into his space. He’s careful not to pull too fast, easing him until he’s flush against Lovett’s chest._ _

__Getting hard in a romper is uncomfortable. Just too tight. But, for the first time tonight, Lovett’s thankful for all the layers he’s buried under. DeRay rubs against him steadily, setting all the butterflies deep inside Lovett’s core free._ _

__Lovett gets distracted by the swish of DeRay’s vest against his chest until DeRay’s hands cover his own, pressing his hands hard on his hips. His brain goes haywire and for a second he forgets who he is._ _

__Before his brain goes back online, he leans in to yell over the music into DeRay’s ear, brushing the skin lightly with his lips._ _

__“So... I have the romphim with me.”_ _

__DeRay turns around with sparkling eyes and a grin. “No!” he shouts in disbelief. Lovett knows how red he must be and a fleeting thought about all the blushes DeRay could hide from him comes and goes. “Put it on!”_ _

__Lovett melts under that bright smile. It's so addictive and he just got a delicious hit._ _

__“It's already on,” he mumbles, looking down at his shuffling feet._ _

__DeRay smacks his arm. “You asshole!”_ _

__“What! I told you I chickened out. Isn't that enough?” His face feels hot._ _

__“But you still wore it, that says something.”_ _

__“It says I was too lazy to take it off,” Lovett says, stalling._ _

__“Oh come on, take that terrible shirt off and enjoy the romphim life with me.”_ _

__Lovett looks down at the blinking menorah on his chest. “It’s not terrible.”_ _

__DeRay grabs at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up to see the bright white and blue fabric. “Maybe not, but this is much better.” He’s hot under his layers, but the heat of DeRay’s hand on hip makes his blood run cold._ _

__Lovett’s being bullied by someone he can't even make laugh. This is what he gets dragged into when his humor shield is disabled. “Fine.” He sounds deflated, but feels fizzy._ _

__DeRay takes him by the wrist and tugs. “Well? Come on.” His smile is sharp and Lovett doesn’t know what to do, so that’s how he ends up being pulled through his dancing colleagues, down a dark hallway, and into an empty bathroom._ _

__DeRay locks the door behind him and leans against it, his eyebrow raised. “Now for your end of the agreement.”_ _

__“I didn’t agree to--”_ _

__“Shut up and take your pants off.”_ _

__Lovett releases a put upon groan and undoes his fly. Before he pulls them down, he flips his shirt over his head. It gets caught on his antlers and he becomes a blinking, jingling mess._ _

__“Maybe this _was_ a bad idea,” DeRay says, teasingly._ _

__“Do you wanna see my stupid onesie or not?” Lovett says, trapped in a cage of lights, arms over his head._ _

__DeRay pulls the collar of the shirt over his head, letting him breathe cool air, but pauses, leaving his arms tangled. He’s very close. Lovett can smell the sweet alcohol on his breath. The pause is barely a pause, but Lovett’s concept of time is worse than hazy. When his arms are freed, DeRay moves back to the door, leaning even heavier this time._ _

__Lovett looks at DeRay with his hands on the flaps of his fly. “Don’t laugh.” Lovett bites his tongue. What a turn of events. Maybe it’s some sort of reverse psychology._ _

__“I’d never.”_ _

___Of course not, asshole,_ he thinks._ _

__He pulls his pants down, letting them pool on his sneakers. When did taking off his clothes become such an involved process? He looks back up when he hears DeRay hum deep in his throat. His eyes are dark ( _they’re always dark, stupid_ ), and it makes him feel warm ( _you’ve been warm all night, dummy_ ). He almost says “how do I look,” but it’s trite and he’s not sure he wants to know._ _

__DeRay bites his bottom lip. Lovett looks back down, squatting to get his shoes through the legs of his pants. His skill for eye contact is slipping through his fingers along with his balance. DeRay catches him when he stumbles, his goofy, oversized sneakers caught in the cuff._ _

__At some point he gets it all off, but, again, time is a flat circle in Lovett’s current experience._ _

__“It looks good,” DeRay purrs._ _

__The room is cold against Lovett’s skin, but he can feel the heat of a blush crawl across his body, up his neck and down his arms. “I guess if holiday romphims are your thing.”_ _

__DeRay reaches for his collar, finger hooked over the button at Lovett’s throat, and none too gently pulls him forward, close enough to count his eyelashes. “I don’t think it’s the romphim,” he says, and then he kisses him._ _

__Lovett kisses him back, hard, like a victory lap. He may not have made the final move, but he’s still calling it a win. DeRay doesn’t need any more credit. He’s the one who stripped in a bathroom. So what if he needed help?_ _

__DeRay licks into his mouth. He twists his finger to unbutton Lovett’s top bottom. The brush of his knuckles against his chest feel electric. Lovett grips him at the waist and pushes him back until DeRay’s back is to the door and Lovett’s pressing hard enough to try and push him through it. He wants to feel every inch of DeRay._ _

__DeRay gets stuck on the third button, his fingers an uncoordinated tangle. “You look so good,” he mumbles against Lovett’s lips and Lovett can feel his chest tighten._ _

__Lovett starts on the buttons at DeRay’s waist, letting his fingers dip against the warm skin. He’s so satisfied when DeRay shivers. “Am I everything you thought I’d be?” He doesn’t know if he’s trying to be funny or sexy._ _

__“Better,” DeRay breathes against his cheek, kissing down his jaw._ _

__DeRay changes his strategy, frantically shrugging off his vest, abandoning Lovett’s buttons for his own, starting at his neck and working his way down to meet Lovett in the middle. They clumsily fiddle with DeRay’s buttons, two sets of hands far worse than one. They work them open to expose the plane of his chest, rough with dark hair. Lovett rubs his fingers over it, delighting at the texture against his fingers._ _

__Lovett’s dick strains against the cheap fabric where he’s rutting against DeRay’s hip. DeRay cups his ass through his shorts, firm fingers rubbing over the seams. Lovett moans._ _

__Lovett reaches down to the bulge in DeRay’s briefs, slipping under the elastic band. DeRay gasps and Lovett smirks. Every sound from DeRay makes him feel bolder. He pulls him out enough to start stroking him._ _

__Lovett kisses at the corner of DeRay’s jaw, down his neck to his collar bones. He keeps going until he folds to his knees, the alcohol and his concentrated blood flow making his legs wobble. He leans heavily, planting a hand on DeRay’s hip and draws him into his mouth._ _

__“Thought of you like this,” DeRay growls, hand petting the side of Lovett’s face, drifting into his hair. Lovett closes his eyes and groans. Every word he says makes him feel weak. He follows his mouth with a fist, stroking up and down, smoothed by his own spit, working him until he’s completely hard._ _

__He mouths at the head, swirling his tongue, before pulling off. “Is it good?”_ _

___Am I good?_ _ _

__The only thing he wants more than DeRay’s dick in his mouth is his approval._ _

__DeRay’s head hangs limp from his neck, looking down at Lovett. “It’s good,” he huffs._ _

__Lovett’s hand moves close to steady and DeRay breathes heavily with every stroke. “It’s so fucking good,” DeRay says, breath heavy, trailing his fingers back down Lovett’s face, curling his thumb around the edge of his mouth. If Lovett thought DeRay’s attention was intense before, he’s been set on fire._ _

__Lovett tries to take control, takes DeRay’s thumb in his mouth, sucking on it and pulling off with a pop. DeRay rubs his wet thumb across Lovett’s bottom lip. Lovett grins with all of his teeth. “You’re infuriatingly hot,” Lovett says, not without a little awe._ _

__There’s a twitch in Lovett’s belly when DeRay licks his lips, slow, and then pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah?” he stage whispers before inhaling a hiss as Lovett wraps his lips around the head, swallowing him as deep as he can in one go. He struggles not to gag, tears pricking his eyes._ _

__Lovett moans and presses his palm against himself, ready to come just from that look, from the feeling of DeRay’s dick in his mouth. He doesn’t have the concentration for both and puts his hand back on DeRay’s eager hip._ _

__He starts to go faster, twisting his fist on every stroke. DeRay's grip tightens in Lovett's hair, slowly pulling strand by strand until he feels it in his whole scalp. Lovett almost chokes on another groan._ _

__DeRay’s rhythm gets more forceful, his dick butting against the back of Lovett’s throat. Lovett can’t hold him back anymore._ _

__“Lov-- Jon, I’m gonna,” DeRay stutters roughly._ _

__Lovett drags his mouth off, keeping the head close to his lips, his hand pumping faster and faster. He licks at the slit, kissing it as it leaks._ _

__“Do it. Let go. Let it happen.”_ _

__And DeRay falls apart, striping onto Lovett’s mouth and across his tongue. Lovett swallows, licking his lips and sucking on the head as DeRay shakes. He sits back on his heels, looking up at DeRay’s slack face._ _

__DeRay touches Lovett’s mouth, gathering some of the come dribbling down his chin. Lovett captures his fingers in his mouth, holding his wrist steady so he can lick them clean._ _

__“You are filthy,” DeRay says around a weak smirk. He slides down the wall to kneel in front of Lovett, grabbing his face and kissing him. Lovett thinks about DeRay tasting himself on his tongue and shivers. DeRay leans forward, pushing Lovett off balance, awkwardly lowering him to the cold tile floor. He can feel the texture against his back as DeRay puts his full weight on top of him._ _

__DeRay latches his mouth to the crook of Lovett’s neck, sucking at his collar bone. Lovett digs his fingers into the taut muscles of DeRay’s shoulders, holding him in place. DeRay skims his hands down the front of Lovett’s romphim, catching on his hard nipples, eliciting tiny gasps from Lovett’s parted lips. He massages the bulge between Lovett’s legs and Lovett whines this time, louder._ _

__“Please,” Lovett begs, scrambling his hands against DeRay’s, “I need you to touch me. Get me out, pull me out, please. I need it, I need you.” His words fade into silent breaths, exhalations hot against the side of DeRay’s head, the only place his mouth can reach._ _

__DeRay rocks himself back on this knees and tucks himself back into his briefs. He knocks Lovett’s trembling hands out of the way, and grabs roughly at Lovett’s buttons, practically clawing him open. He struggles to fit his hand under the fabric, some buttons still clasped shut. Relief washes over Lovett in a cool wave once DeRay releases him from the confines of his underwear. He’s so close, arching his back as DeRay strokes him. DeRay uses Lovett’s precome to lubricate the palm of his hand, and Lovett fists the air at his sides, like he’s trying to stay grounded, knuckles scraping the tiles._ _

__DeRay lowers himself until he can catch Lovett’s earlobe between his teeth. “Your turn,” he huffs. The coarseness of his voice makes the hairs on the back of Lovett’s neck stand on end. “Come. I wanna see you.”_ _

__Lovett moans, opening his eyes, attempting to keep his gaze fixed on DeRay’s face._ _

__DeRay’s mouth is slack, but the corner curls weakly. “That’s it. Be good for me.”_ _

__It’s everything he craves, like a mack truck to the solar plexus. Lovett cries out, coming hard. _Be good for me._ His whole body seizes up -- brows furrow, eyes clench shut, jaw stretches tight -- his muscles feel so tense it almost hurts, but the endorphins coursing through him feel like bright white lightning._ _

__“Yes, yes, yes,” he keens, getting stuck on repeat, the sibilant s’s petering out as his breathing slows down. His heart is pounding. It feels like it’s rattling his rib cage._ _

__DeRay sits up, perched on Lovett’s thighs, noisily sucking at his fingers._ _

__“Who’s filthy now,” Lovett says, voice thready._ _

__DeRay looks him up and down and chuckles. “After that, still you,” he says, jutting his chin down at Lovett’s chest._ _

__Lovett folds himself up on his elbows and looks down at himself. He’s an absolute mess. He’s covered in stripes of his own come, some pooling on his stomach, some reaching higher on his chest, not all of it on his skin. It dots the fabric like extra, misplaced snow. He touches his neck where some of DeRay’s ran down past his chin. There’s a glob of come on his collar, already cooled._ _

__“Look what you did to me!” Lovett wails. He can’t take his eyes off the carnage. Every time he moves his eyes, he sees another fleck. “I -- I can’t go out there like this!”_ _

__DeRay picks something off the floor next to them, turning it over in his hands. He shows his teeth, a cartoonish smile taking over his face as he hands Lovett something tiny and blue._ _

__“You _popped_ a _button_?” Lovett’s fully screeching._ _

__DeRay tilts his head back, his jaw falling open with a loud hoot. The hard surfaces of the bathroom ring out with DeRay’s hysterical laughter. His shoulders shake, eyes crinkled shut, and he laughs until he runs out of breath._ _

__“Are you kidding?” Lovett can feel him vibrate on his legs, a sort of rage rising inside him. “This is what does it?”_ _

__DeRay looks down at him, tears in his eyes, and takes a wheezing deep breath. “What are you talking about?” he says, wiping at his eyes and continues laughing, throwing his head back hard enough to sway his balance until he’s on his butt between Lovett’s knees._ _

__“Does it have to be at my expense?” Lovett still sounds crazed, but he can’t resist smiling. “Is that what does it for you? Is that what's funny?” Now he’s laughing with him, the bathroom echoing their combined giggles._ _

__Lovett sits up, eye level with Deray. His face up close is beautiful -- smile lines crease his cheeks, framing his big, white smile, and his eyes squint happily. He swipes a tear away with the pad of his thumb. “I've tried for ages to make you laugh, and this is what makes you lose it?”_ _

__DeRay cocks his head. “You make me laugh.”_ _

__“Not like that,” Lovett retorts, shaking his head._ _

__“I guess you gotta work for it,” DeRay smiles slyly. “At least you got exactly what you wanted.”_ _

__“A handjob on a public bathroom floor?” Lovett says, trying to stand._ _

__“You don’t have to wear the romphim in front of everyone after all,” DeRay says, laughing anew._ _

__Lovett sure got exactly what he wanted. DeRay’s laughter fills him, electrifies the butterflies. Now all he wants is for him to stop. He pushes him until he rolls on his back, but it only makes him laugh harder._ _

__“Why do I even try,” Lovett mumbles to the ceiling._ _

**Author's Note:**

> If it wasn't for anatomical_heart, this never would've been finished in time. A cheerleader, a beta, and a sounding board all rolled into one and the best at all three. This is for you as much as it's for dearest gdgdbaby.


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